Caught in the Act (10 page)

Sleep? With all he had to think about? But the bed was warm and cozy, and Mike snuggled into it.

The next thing he knew the room was dark, and his door was slowly opening, an inch at a time.

Mike sat up in bed, calling, **Who's there?"

The door opened wide, and Mrs. Friedrich stepped inside the room. She lit Mike's lamp from the one in her hand. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Mike didn't have to think for long. "Hungry," he said.

Her cheeks sagged, but she managed a wisp of a snule. "Good. I knew the rest would make you feel better."

"Thank you, Mrs. Friedrich," Mike said. "I'll get up and help Marta put the supper on the table."

"Supper was over an hour ago." This time her smile was stronger. "You should see your face, Michael. You look like a small dog out in the rain. Did you think I would let you go hungry?" She patted the lump in the quilt that covered Mike's feet. "You stay in bed. In just a few minutes I'll bring you some hot bean and ham soup and some com bread I saved for you. A little butter and honey on the bread should taste nice."

Mike lay back with a contented sigh.

At the door she paused. "If you feel strong enough after you have eaten, you can write to your mother and your brothers and sisters. There are paper, a quill pen, ink, and wipers on top of the chest. Oh—and a slate for your lap on which you can put the paper when you write."

"Thank you!" Mike beamed.

Still Mrs. Friedrich didn't leave. She looked at the dark window, the floor, and finally at Mike. "I hope you will tell your family the good things about your life with us."

"The good things? Like your delicious meals?" Mike asked.

She brightened. "Yah! Maybe tell them about the

rolling hills and the trees with their red and golden leaves."

Mike realized what she was trying to tell him. "Will Mr. FYiedrich read my letters before they're mailed?"

"He says of course he must," she murmured, as though she were repeating her husband's words. "He has the great responsibility of teaching and training you for a better life than the one you had."

"1 understand," Mike answered.

Mrs. Friedrich hurried through the door, and Mike could hear the stair boards creak and snap. At first he let anger simmer under his skin the way the hot tea had simmered in the heavy cup. Mr. Friedrich had no right to read his letters, to decide what Mike could or couldn't say!

But anger slid away as he admitted to himself that even without Mrs. Friedrich's warning, he would not have told Ma or the others about the way Gunter and Mr. Friedrich treated him. What could any of them do about it? Nothing! They had enough problenis of their own. He hugged the quilt to his chin, and his chest ached as he thought of Danny and Peg and Megan and Petey and Frances Mary. He hoped with all his heart that their homes had turned out to be happier than this one. "Oh, Ma!" he whispered and once more fought back the tears.

In a few minutes Mrs. Friedrich brought the supper tray. Mike ate gratefully. Then, still in his nightshirt, he sat at the end of the bed next to the chest and carefully wrote his letters. First he wrote to Ma. He wrote about the good food, about the golden meadows and green forests, and about the animals on the farm.

Then he hesitated. He wanted to write that he would live with the Friedrichs only as long as he had to, and that when he was old enough he would head farther west in search of mountains and rivers and lakes and

plains and all the other wondrous things he imagined from the stories Reuben told.

*That's Michael Kelly!" someone would whisper as he rode on horseback through a dusty western town. "Kelly's traveled to the tops of the mountain peaks, from ocean to ocean, and into wild country where no one has ever dared to set foot." And men would respectftiUy move aside and touch the brims of their hats to him.

But he wrote only, "Your loving son, Michael." His letters to his brothers and sisters were very much the same.

Mike wiped the pen point carefully and tightened the top on the bottle of ink before he placed them beside his letters. The house was quiet. He was probably the only one still awake. He snuffed out the wick in his lamp and climbed back into bed, huddling into a ball as he waited for his own body to warm the bed. There was so much to think about, so many questions that needed answering. He could hardly wait to talk with Reuben in the morning.

When morning came, Mike woke with a start. "Hurry!" Mr. Friedrich shouted as he hammered on the door to Mike's room. Although this early morning commotion took place every day, Mike still found it hard to get used to.

As he dressed he glanced out his window. Lantern light gleamed through the open doors; Reuben had already begun the milking. Mike wondered what time Reuben woke up every morning and how he managed it without Mr. FYiedrich to shout at him.

When Mike went down to breakfast, he took his stack of letters with him and laid them next to Mr. Friedrich's plate.

Mr. Friedrich looked at the letters suspiciously, then picked up the one on the top, opened it, and read it.

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Mike held his breath, but Mr. Friedrich only nodded, tossed the paper down again, and said, "There's no hurry for me to read these. They can't be n\ailed until we go to town next week."

"I wrote their addresses on the back," Mike said.

"m give you envelopes for the letters—if they pass my inspection," Mr. Friedrich said. He paused. "And you can give me your coins. Since the postage for all these letters will cost more than you have, I will pay it and expect you to perform extra chores to reimburse me."

Mike nodded reluctantly. He'd be getting more pennies from Corey, but there'd be no way he could let Mr. Friedrich know about them.

The morning blessing was always a short one, and the meal was eaten in haste, since the cows needed to be milked and all the animals fed.

Mike pulled on his coat and hurried outside. It was Saturday, and there was no school, so Gunter would be home all day. Even though Gunter had his own chores to do, Mike was sure that he would find enough time to think up something to get Mike into trouble. He'd have to keep his eyes open and his wits about him.

"I see you're feeling better now," Reuben said, as Mike entered the bam.

He snuled, and Mike was inmiediately cheered. He had worried that Reuben would be angry with him for missing Friday afternoon's work.

Mike glanced around to make sure that Gunter was not nearby and lowered his voice. "I don't understand the things that Mr. Friedrich said to you."

"Nor do I," Reuben answered.

"Did you ask him what he meant when he said you were pretending to be his hired hand?"

"I asked for no explanations," Reuben said. *The man was so angry, he wasn't rational."

"Mrs. Friedrich is afraid of something—something

besides her husband," Mike said. "Last night she said she didn't want to run away again."

"Mike," Reuben said, "the Friedrichs' problems are their own business and not our concern."

"But maybe they do concern you. IVe heard them whispering about you."

For a moment Reuben jfrowned. Then he released the nearest cow from her stall and said, "I learned long ago to avoid others' petty quarrels and angers. Let's get these ladies out to pasture. Where are the dogs?"

Mike ran ahead, whistling for Bruna and Wulf, who were already running toward the bam. He opened the gate and hung on it as the cows slowly marched through. The early air was fragrant with the sharp scent of the meadow grasses, and the sky was ribboned with streaks of pink and gold. It was a beautiful day, and for the moment Mike convinced himself that Reuben was right. Worrying about the Friedrichs was a waste of good time.

As the last cow walked through, Mike avoided her switching tail and swung the gate shut, checking to make sure it was carefully fastened.

Mike began to run back down the hill to the bam, but Gunter called to him. "Marta wants more wood carried to the house."

Before Mike could answer, Gunter disappeared around the comer of the bam, so Mike added more wood to the bin by the back stoop, even though there seemed to be plenty on hand.

As Mike ran into the bam, Reuben rested on his shovel and asked, "What kept you?"

"I had to put more wood in the bin."

"There should have been plenty," Reuben said.

Mike shrugged. "That's what I thought, but Marta wanted more." He picked up the broom and energetically set to work cleaning the stalls.

He had just finished when Mr. Friedrich stomped into

the bam and reached for the leather harness. "We will take the mules to the north field and work together-to clear it," he said. He ignored Reuben and turned his scowl on Mike. "And I will tolerate no laziness."

"No, sir," Mike stammered. He saw Gunter sidle into the bam behind his father. Gunter glanced at Mike and smiled a strange, secret smile before he quickly looked away.

Mike immediately became busy following Mr. Fried-rich's orders and put Gunter out of his mind. Soon the mules were in hamess.

To the noisy jangling of the harness and the snorting and blowing of the mules, Mr. FYiedrich, Gunter, Reuben, and Mike left the bam and headed up the road toward the north field, the dogs racing ahead.

No one spoke until Gunter, who walked next to his father, called to Mike, "What were you doing at the pasture?"

"Taking the cows to pasture, the way I always do," Mike answered.

"I mean later—just before we harnessed the mules."

"I wasn't at the pasture then," Mike said.

"Yes, you were," Gunter insisted. "I saw you. You were mnning from the pasture."

"I was not!"

"Was too!"

Mr. Friedrich's hand was rough on Mike's shoulder. "Enough of this," he said and gave Mike a shake hard enough to make him stumble. "Keep your mind on your work, and you will have no time for foolish arguments."

Reuben led the mules into the field, and the others followed. The mules were hitched to a contraption with a row of sharp-toothed metal disks.

"What is that?" Mike asked.

"It's a harrow, and it's used to break up the soil," Reuben said.

"Don't waste time with explanations," Mr. Friedrich grumbled and began to snap out directions. "You boys, run ahead and look for stones. When you see them, carry them quickly to pile at the side here. The stones can break the disks."

The four of them set to work. It didn't surprise Mike that Gunter let him do most of the stooping and carrying. They had worked for only an hour or so when the bell at the house began clanging. Mr. Friedrich pulled the mules to a stop and wiped an arm across his forehead. "It's not noon," he said. "It's not time to stop for our meal."

As the clanging continued, Reuben was the first to react. "Something's wrong!^' he cried. He quickly secured the mules' lead to the nearest fence post and ran in the direction of the house, almost as fast as Wulf and Bruna.

Mike raced after Reuben. Mr. Friedrich and Gunter puffed behind him.

As they crested the hill, Mike could see two men on horseback who were herding cattle up the road toward the pasture. The gate to the pasture stood wide open.

*The cattle!" Mr. Friedrich wheezed. *Those are my cattle! What are they doing on the road? How did they get out?"

Gunter grabbed his father's arm and shook it. "That's why Mike was at the pasture!" he cried. "He deliberately opened the gate! Papa, Mike let your cattle out!"

Mr. Friedrich didnt even look at Mike. He ran after the horsemen, who were driving the cattle into the pasture with the help of the dogs. He carefully closed and fastened the gate, then turned to the men.

"Corey Blair!" he stanmiered. His face was deep red with anger.

"Oh, Hans, don't be angry! Corey was helping!" Mrs. FYiedrich's hands fluttered to her face as she called from the stoop where she and Marta stood. Mike saw her shrink back as Mr. Friedrich frowned, then turned away.

"Your cattle was out on the road," Corey said. "Me and my brother brought *em back for you."

"For this I thank you," Mr. Friedrich muttered. He began to stride toward Mike and Gunter, but Corey swung from his horse and stood in his way.

"Mr. Friedrich," Corey said, "weYe neighbors. There's no call for us not to act neighborly, is there?"

Mr. Friedrich folded his arms across his chest and

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glared at Corey. "I have already thanked you. Is there more that you want?"

"Yes," Corey said. He glanced in Marta's direction, then smiled easily, as though Mr. Friedrich's bad temper didn't bother him at all. "Fd like your permission for me to come calling on Marta. Will you give it?"

"No! I will not! Marta is not ready for marriage."

Corey shook his head. "She's over the age that most of the women around here marry at. Healthy, strong, good-lookin' woman like Marta shoulda been married long ago."

"She was."

"Huh?" Corey took a step backward.

"She should have told you. She was widowed when she was seventeen. She has been under our protection ever since." Mr. Friedrich stepped so close to Corey that Corey had to back away to keep from being butted by Mr. Friedrich's round stomach. "If Marta marries again it will be to a hardworking, sensible German, not to a young fool who would rather fight than work."

Corey's face flushed almost as dark as Mr. Friedrich's. "I'm a hard worker. You can take a look at our place. We all work hard."

Mr. Friedrich waved Corey aside and walked quickly to where Mike, Gunter, and Reuben were standing. "Time is valuable, and you are stealing mine. I've thanked you. Now be gone with you."

"I ain't stealin' anythin' that's yours!" Corey exploded. "I done you a favor, and small reward I got for it!"

Mr. Friedrich ignored Corey and kept walking toward the north field. Corey tugged his hat down firmly and swung up on his horse's back. Without another word he and his brother galloped toward the Blairs' farm.

Reuben, with a worried glance at Mike, strode after Mr. Friedrich, while Gunter smirked and ran to catch up with his father. Mike, his legs shaking so much it was

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hard to walk, hurried after them. As soon as the Blairs had disappeared down the road, Gunter called, "Papa, it's all Mike's fault! He let the cattle out on purpose!"